


A Borrowed Moment

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-17
Updated: 2008-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: 'She didn’t want to leave this room, to go downstairs and face the people who were waiting for her. She wanted to hold on to this moment and deny reality its existence for just a bit longer.'





	A Borrowed Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

She glanced half heartedly at the reflection, at the woman who looked like an alternate version of herself. Her eyes were red rimmed and the pale face told its own tale.   
  
The hairbrush moved its way through her hair, guided by her shaking hand and not making the slightest bit of difference to her bushy hair.   
  
She was moving on automatic pilot...brush through hair....focusing on the task at hand....brush through hair....there was nothing else she could do....brush through hair....the chaos was stilled as her movements grew increasingly hypnotic in the reflection looking back at her.   
  
The old-fashioned dressing table with its large mirror had once belonged to Bill and Fleur and had somehow found its way into their small flat when Bill and Fleur had moved. It wasn’t quite her taste but today it served a purpose. Her hand raised to run the brush through her hair yet again, but she stopped when she caught his disapproving stare in the mirror.   
  
“Please don’t look at me like that Ron,” she said, the brush automatically beginning its steady journey through her hair yet again, as she watched him in the mirror. He was uncharacteristically quiet, perched on the end of the bed. He had discarded his cloak somewhere along the way and sat there in jeans and jumper, watching her.   
  
The tears which had become so familiar to her over the past few days would not fall now, Hermione told herself as her gaze followed the hypnotic trace of the hairbrush. She could not afford to lose control today, she would not. So focused was she on the task at hand, that she jumped slightly as she felt familiar arms wrap themselves around her waist, reaching for her hands and holding them still. She caught his gaze in the mirror, his chin resting on her shoulder and she let the hairbrush fall with a clatter onto the dressing table.   
  
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and simply revelled in his presence, in the comfort of his arms as they held her.   
  
“I don’t want to do this today,” she sighed. “I don’t know if I can…..” The tightening of the arms that held her gave her the response she was seeking and she opened her eyes in time to see Ron place a soft kiss on her shoulder, then her neck, before she settled into the embrace once again.   
  
Her eyes caught one of the framed photographs that lined the dressing table. Wizarding and Muggle photos all had their own special places on this table and her gaze found one in particular: a photo Harry had taken one day at the Burrow. 

It hadn’t been a particularly special occasion, just a sunny Saturday afternoon and they had all drifted to the Burrow with children and picnics in tow. Hugo and his cousins had been climbing the gnarled old tree in the back garden, the one which Ron and his siblings had all climbed in their youth. Hugo had been brave, he hadn’t cried out when he had fallen, but two of his cousins had come running to Ron, who had of course rushed to his son. Hermione had arrived on the scene just in time to see Hugo jumping up and running to join his waiting cousins, but she had been touched when Harry had given her a borrowed moment. He had been in just the right place, and time, to catch the moment when Ron had held Hugo, talked with him and eventually made him smile. It was such a caring moment when both her boys let down their guard and she cherished it, and the impromptu photographer who had captured it….a borrowed moment of a happier time.   
  
Her gaze was torn away from the memory by the sight of Ron’s fingers covering hers and holding her hands tightly. She was spellbound by the beginnings of the faint, familiar scars which began around his wrists. Frightened of losing control, she couldn’t turn around, so she simply closed her eyes and sighed.   
  
“I don’t know if I can do this, a funeral just seems so final.” she leaned her head back against his chest. “You’re too quiet Ron.”   
  
Opening her eyes, she saw the tears that were falling down Ron’s cheeks as their eyes met in the mirror and she understood that he too was just trying to keep it all together and to get through this day.   
  
A soft tapping on the door interrupted the moment.   
  
“Hermione?” a tentative voice came from outside the closed door. “Hermione, it’s time, everyone’s here. We can go whenever you’re ready.”   
  
Silence reigned on both sides of the door for a moment as Ron and Hermione’s eyes met and the tears ran unashamedly down their cheeks.   
  
“Hermione?”  
  
A soft kiss brushed against her cheek.   
  
“Hermione, can I come in?”   
  
His right hand began to trace the length of her arm.   
  
“Hermione?”  
  
His long fingers reached up to dry the tears that had fallen, and skimmed across her cheek.  
  
“I going to come in now Hermione.”  
  
A sob escaped her lips when Ron lifted her hand and gently kissed the tips of her fingers.   
  
“I love you.” she whispered, as her eyes held his and she wished for this moment to go on forever. She didn’t want to leave this room, to go downstairs and face the people who were waiting for her. She wanted to hold on to this moment and deny reality its existence for just a bit longer.   
  
The loud creak of the door as it opened broke the spell.   
  
Her attention was drawn to the figure of Harry in the mirror, nervously entering the room, his own eyes red rimmed, holding onto the door handle as if he were afraid to let go.   
  
She took another long look at the photograph before she stood, took a shaky breath and walked out of the room, alone.


End file.
